The Craft
by Watermelonsmellinfellon
Summary: MAJOR AU!Harry Potter's life has been filled with all manner of strange. But then his family moves to Little Hangleton, where he meets Tom Riddle. Young Tom has his own strange past, as well as another person to share his body with. On top of this, Little Hangleton is about to become the home of a murderer out for revenge. Can Harry and Tom find love while death lurks nearby? SLASH
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: hello, people!**

 **I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. THE LINK IS ON MY PROFILE. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

Hadrian James Potter was just a simple boy on the crest of teen-hood. He was nearly sixteen and had been through a lot in his admittedly young life.

When he was one, someone broke into his family's cottage and murdered his father, James. His mother, Lily, managed to draw a hidden pistol from where she apparently stashed in her brazier. She shot the murderer in the forehead and called the authorities a moment later.

When he was four, his mother remarried. The man was stern, most of the time, but he had an awesome godson named Draco, who had many of the same interests as Hadrian did.

Severus Snape was a dour professor of a London university. He did not play… often.

Their first meeting - as best as Harry could remember it - went by as _un_ noteworthy. Severus was a bit standoffish for a few months, probably because Harry greatly resembled his deceased father, James, at the time.

In school, James and his friends tormented Severus and the man hadn't gotten over it at the time.

But his apparent disdain for Harry changed the day of Harry's fifth birthday, when Harry fell out his two story bedroom window. The reason he was even near the window was because he was too curious and wanted to see if he could pull himself over the sill, which was taller than him. Well… he managed it and just as he was tipping over the edge, Severus entered the room to take him down for dinner.

The man had shouted his worry and all Harry knew was wind, warmth, darkness, and a sort of strong jostling that made his neck snap back.

He later learned that Severus had followed him out the window by jumping and grabbing him as they both fell. Severus took the brunt of the fall and had a fractured shoulder as a result.

Harry clung to him during hospital visits. In some way, he was able to realize that Sev had saved his life. Sev cared about him. So he did everything he could to make Sev happy from that point on, even going so far as to begin studying Chemistry, which was Sev's major.

When he was seven, he was kidnapped by a strange woman. He later learned that she was his godfather's cousin.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a wanted mass murderess. The story was, Sirius - Harry's godfather - had gotten into a fight with her husband Rodolphus. Rodolphus had suffered a spinal injury while Sirius merely had a broken leg. Sirius was trained in Karate and Rodolphus had started a fight unknowingly signing himself up for severe amounts of pain.

Rodolphus was wheelchair bound and told he'd never walk again.

Bellatrix did not appreciate this. She divorced her husband and married his brother Rabastan. She unfortunately found out that he had many sexually transmitted diseases and he was unable to sire children. She'd been infected and she wanted revenge. She committed her first murder, using him as an example.

Bellatrix - who preferred to be known as Trixy - had a particular way she murdered her victims. For the males, she would remove their genitalia and mutilate them before shoving them either in their mouths or up their anuses. For the females, she carved out the uterus and would mutilate the organ repeatedly. All done while the victims were alive of course. She would then end their lives with multiple stabs to the heart, leaving the weapon embedded in the victim's chest.

Trixy became a serial killer. **Trixy the Strange**. She wanted people to know her. To know of her works. She was repeatedly caught on camera, cackling madly.

The laugh itself had been saved and recorded. It was used in various shows and films in order to really set the horror mood.

She wasn't caught until Harry was ten. By then, she had committed over two hundred murders.

She was labeled as insane when questioned repeatedly and answering that murdering men and women was fine. It was revenge. But children were a 'no-no' in her own childish words. And truth, none of her victims had been under the age of seventeen. She apparently considered children to be innocent.

The reason she kidnapped Harry was because she learned of his connection to Sirius and she felt that she needed to take Harry away from Sirius. She wanted a child of her own.

That was at least what she had told Harry.

So she figured she'd take Sirius' child for herself.

In their week together, she never succeeded in getting him to call her 'mummy'.

He was simply locked in this odd room, filled with blue baby toys and blankets. And a small pail for waste, sitting in the corner. She'd come in three times a day with food. He never touched it or the milk she insisted he should drink. 'To grow up into a big, strong boy,' she explained on his third day in prison. He wasn't stupid. He'd studied enough of Chemistry to know that there could be things in the food. Things that would do weird stuff to him. Whether this was actually the case or not, was never explained, but he never chanced it.

So for nearly a full week, he went without food and drink. And he used the pail twice in that time.

It had hurt, he remembered.

Vaguely, he could recall how he laid on the floor, under the large blue, lace covered bed. He'd curled in on himself and cried until he literally had no more tears to give. His tongue dried up and his mouth was filled pasty spit.

His eyes felt dry and they burned more and more as time passed.

Since the room had no windows, he didn't know how much time had gone by with the lack of a clock to keep him updated. He simply laid there, refusing to give the crazy woman his attention.

She never raised a hand to him though. She never threatened him or insulted him. She sniffled a few times. He could remember that. She constantly talked to herself about how 'her son didn't love her'. She ran her hands through her long, messy, black curls and shook her head repeatedly. Like a dog.

She would even flop to the floor and beg him to come out of his hiding place.

By the day he had been rescued, he was unable to sleep, but had a difficulty staying awake. Like he was in some in between stage of consciousness. He could see everything within his line of vision, but nothing was detailed. Nothing stood out to him.

Only when Sev seemed to magically appear and Harry could hear his dulcet tones calmly calling out for him, did he respond.

It was a sort of sigh/whine hybrid noise. The darkness form laying under the bed, was filled with light as some people literally _picked up the bed_ and placed it elsewhere in the room.

Harry was slowly turned onto his back, eyes squinting minutely at the sudden brightness that burned.

Sev leaned over him, his dark haring framing his face as he ran a hand through Harry's messy, black locks. Weird things were placed on his chest and something was hooked to his finger to test his pulse or something.

The effects of that event took a few months to combat, but by his eighth birthday, he was right as rain. Still, he had seen a counselor until he was ten.

During his eleventh Christmas, he witnessed a neighbor who was a little younger than him, get hit by a semi. It was a very slow moment and it felt like it passed forever. But Harry was staring out his window, wishing he could be outside on the snowy day. Lily kept the windows closed after his bad fall all those years ago, so his shout of warning went unnoticed by anyone outside. He did tell his mum who rushed in with worry and she then called the authorities.

After that amount of drama, Harry's life settled until he was fourteen.

Sirius had suffered cardiac arrest and died not too long after. Harry was listed to inherit everything he had, leaving Harry with a lot of money of his own and businesses that apparently needed running. Harry had to hire a tutor in business management then, so that he wouldn't squander millions of dollars and run the companies into the ground.

And so Harry's fifteenth year of life passed in relative normalcy.

And that all changed when his mother decided to move to a quaint little village in the middle of fucking nowhere. She was sick of city life.

Little Hangleton was like the vomit of the dregs. More than just the part that no one wanted. It didn't matter that the village had its own hierarchy, it was horrid.

Harry disliked everything about the place.

The people were worse busybodies than the press Harry had been involved with since he was young.

The town had its own history, its own nobility, its own horror stories, and the local deaf man who stood atop the church hill every Sunday morning, signing Ode to Joy.

Hadrian James Potter did not like Little Hangleton.

Not one bit.

He glared at the scenery, finding it wholly disturbing.

Nature. _Disgusting_.

"If you keep frowning like that, your face will freeze."

Harry whirled around, coming face to face with… wow.

Hot teen guy. Not disgusting.

Said hot male smirked a bit and held out a hand, "Everyone has been talking of you and your family's arrival. You are, Hadrian Potter?"

Harry nodded, accepting the handshake. "And _you_ are whom?"

The smirk spread to steel, grey eyes.

"Tom Riddle."

* * *

 **A/N: The first is finished.**

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, people.**

 **I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. FOLLOW BACK!**

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle was a unique boy. With unique abilities.

Ever since he was young, he was able to envision himself as something greater. And he truly felt that that 'something greater' had overtaken him at times.

Moments like those were soon renamed. He wasn't Tom anymore. He was someone else. Someone better. Stronger.

So he fashioned a new name for himself. A name that was a great as his new self was.

Voldemort.

The first incident of Voldemort appearing, was when he was three. Long before he actually had a name for him.

Tom had always been aware. Aware of the things around him. Even if he couldn't articulate like everyone else could, he understood perfectly.

People were idiots.

He was a child, not mentally challenged.

It was as if the matron of the orphanage forgot that she once was a child as well.

Mrs. Cole, the horrible woman she was, always cooing and mumbling instead of speaking like a normal person.

Tom had hated life there. Hated everything.

One of the older boys took Tom's book. He'd been trying to learn his letters, when the eight year old came over and ripped the book from his hands and laughed. In a fit of rage, something just _clicked_.

It was as if something came over Tom at that time and his anger suddenly dissipated into a low simmer. What came next was shocking. It was like he was in the background, watching his body and mouth move and do and say things that three year olds couldn't do.

Within seconds, the bully was on the cold, wooden floor, staring up at him in horror. Tom didn't know exactly what happened, but when he retrieved the book, he deliberately ripped the page and threw it away. Then flung himself to the floor in a mangled looking heap, crying for all he was worth.

The cook has been a kindly woman who favored Tom above the others because he didn't get into trouble. She was the one to come and see what was wrong.

When she saw Tom on the floor, crying with the torn book off to the side and the bully sitting there staring, she grabbed that boy by the ear and dragged him to the matron's office. She returned a moment later and brought Tom to the kitchen, where he was allowed to sample the dough for the sweets she was making.

Whatever had happened to him, it had all turned out in his favor.

Incidents like that began occurring more often. The next was when he was four.

He finally managed to articulate his thoughts and carried a dictionary everywhere he went. It was important to know things. All kinds of things.

It was when he was six, that _he_ came.

His father found him, though it wasn't deliberate.

The man had been informed that he would be unable to have any more children, so he needed to adopt. There was only one type of child that he wanted though. Intelligent, similar in appearance to him, and not greedy.

So the man traveled to several orphanages before finally coming to Wools.

Tom had been sitting outside, under the shade of a tree, watching for the other children. Some of the older ones still liked to mess with him and weren't smart enough to learn their lessons.

He saw the tall man walk up the walkway and into the building. The cook found Tom a moment later, telling him that Mrs. Cole wanted to see him.

And so Tom carried his dictionary with him as he reluctantly went to see the old woman. The tall man was in her office and the look on his face when Tom walked into the room, was of shock and slight horror.

" _This_ is Tom Marvolo Riddle," Mrs. Cole introduced him. "He's an advanced student in the primary and has already reached his fourth year, despite being only six years of age."

The man, Tom had realized, looked very much like him.

"Tom, this is Mr. Tom Riddle."

Tom's head snapped from the elderly woman to the tall man - Mr. Riddle.

He took in the angular face and the grey eyes much like his own. How his hair was brushed to the side, with the slight curl that Tom's own hair possessed.

This man _had_ to be his father, besides their names being the same, they looked too much alike to not be related.

"Tell me, Tom," the man began. "If I were to had you one hundred quid, what would you do?"

"It would depend on what I need. I have clothing and a functional blanket. I have enough books at the moment. For now I'd save it for more books or maybe a good coat in the winter."

Mr. Riddle nodded and said, "And if I were to take your book?"

Tom's eyes narrowed, "You could very well _try_ , sir."

"And if I took someone's else's book and gave it to you?"

"I hope you don't get caught."

"And if someone did you wrong?"

"They'd get caught, because _I_ don't start problems and _I_ don't get into trouble."

"And if you lost something you value?"

"I would find it."

Tom didn't understand the point of the questioning and felt that the answers were obvious. And that the questions were stupid.

"And if a friend of yours had died?"

"I have no friends, so the point is moot."

"And what do you think of death?"

"Nothing but the next great adventure."

Mr. Riddle stood straight and nodded. "The paperwork, Mrs. Cole?"

Tom watched for several moments, realizing that this man was taking him away. Away from the ridiculous orphanage in the middle of London.

A few weeks later, Tom officially left Wool's Orphanage after getting to know his birth father at several meetings spread out over the short time.

He only bade a farewell to the cook - Ms. Amy - since she was the only person who had truly cared about him while there.

The house he moved into was located in a small village called Little Hangleton. The Riddle House sat atop the largest hill, overlooking the entire village. It was large, with four floors and fanciful decorations.

He was immediately told that his grandparents had been murdered by his mother's father, Marvolo.

Tom Riddle Sr. did not hesitate to explain his family to young Tom.

His father awoke one day, not remembering marrying his mother, Merope Gaunt. He did not love her and didn't know anything about her. And he demanded a divorce and she refused, running from the village, leaving him unable to file the papers.

Marvolo felt that it was Tom's fault that his daughter had run off and sought revenge by killing Tom's elderly mother and father. Tom barely managed to get away, suffering an injury that removed his ability to sire more children.

The villagers took care of Marvolo and he was sent off to prison, leaving his son Morfin behind. Morfin joined his father soon after, killing the caretaker of the Riddle House in anger. Frank Bryce was given a small burial in the Riddle Cemetery, in the plot section that the Riddle Family had purchased. He'd taken care of the land for sixty-four years before he was murdered and Tom Sr. felt he deserved the memorial.

And Tom Riddle Sr. needed an heir to pass his home on to and it was by luck that he came across Tom. At least Tom was his blood child and was 'legitimate'.

And while Tom's life had indeed gotten better, his father wasn't one who inspired comfort and love.

Tom still didn't know what it was like to truly care about someone or have someone care about him. There were servants or course, and he had a governess. Actually, he had three. The first wouldn't teach him anything, too busy trying to earn his father's favor. The second was too old and was revealed to have Dementia. The final one had her head on straight.

Tom had classes. Tom attended service on Sundays, though he didn't really believe what he was hearing. Tom did not get into trouble. Tom was the 'perfect child'.

Except for Voldemort.

Voldemort was more than just another side of him. More than another person in control of his body.

Voldemort was his own person. His own being. His wants and desires differed from what Tom's did. He was terrified of death, whereas Tom didn't really care. He hated silk while Tom loved it. He wanted solitude while Tom longed for someone - anyone - to just be there. And all of this was shoved into one body, making Tom come across as a bit cocksure and closed off.

Little Hangleton was a boring place. The only interest Tom ever had was when he visited his mother's former abode on the outskirts of the village.

The Gaunts were a truly depraved family.

A Ouija Board in the corner, candles and salts on the floor. A cauldron and various blades. Those people believed in magic.

Tom was the the last 'Gaunt' left. He was given ownership of the shack - that's what it was, a shack - since no one else wanted it. Also, no one dared go near it for fear of being cursed. The Gaunts were thought to be bewitched and in a small village, of course they'd be easily swayed by popular opinion.

The item of interest that Tom took from the shack, was a ring. An old ring passed down in the family. Golden and with a strange black stone fixed in the center. On the sides of the ring, were symbols. Runes. On the face of the stone, was a triangle and inside was a circle that was bisected by a perpendicular line. An odd design, but far too nice for a family such as the Gaunts.

Other than the ring, he took the scroll that documented the line of the Gaunts, which led all the way up to a man named Cadmus Peverell, who moved to England from Wales and renamed himself to get away from his bad family reputation.

Apparently, his oldest brother Antioch, professed to be a sorcerer and became a braggart. Magic was frowned upon at that time and he was burned at the stake. His two younger brothers fled in shame, before the mobs could attack them for sorcery.

So Tom's 'family' on the one side were all crazy and his 'family' on the other side were all stuck up snobs with no idea who to truly care for a child.

Great.

* * *

New family!

Little Hangleton became the new home to a new family of three and Tom was intrigued enough to go and take a look.

The house, which admittedly was the second largest in the village, wasn't too far and he found the youngest new resident, sitting in the back yard, glaring at the village.

A teen around Tom's age at least.

Black, messy hair. Pale skin. Bright green eyes behind a pair of black, rectangular frames. The teen was physically interesting.

Voldemort snorted in the back of his mind. _More than that_ , he purred.

Tom ignored him and focused on the other teen once more.

He started off their introduction with light teasing, enjoying how the boy gaped for a moment, before controlling himself.

Hadrian Potter.

Cute.

Tom was looking forward to this acquaintanceship.

In the back of his mind, Voldemort cackled.

* * *

 **A/N: Another is done.**

 **-So, Tom has Dissociative Identity Disorder. Since there are no legitimate ways of getting into someone's mind, scientists cannot truly describe what it is like to have DID/MPD. So my take on it, is there is another person sharing Tom's body. Like two souls in one form. And when Voldemort truly takes over, Tom is forced into the background, able to see and hear and feel and all that, but not be the one controlling it all.**

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

Lily Snape had not expected her baby boy to make a friend so quickly after moving to Little Hangleton. But there he was in the back garden, chatting up a very attractive young man and actually smirking in amusement. He was not smiling, Harry hadn't smiled in the years, but this at least meant that he was enjoying himself to an extent.

The young man was tall, with curly black hair and grey eyes. He was smirking and looking at Harry like he was something amazing. Judging from the very small village, a newcomer must actually be very amazing to locals.

She watched from her bedroom window as her son followed the young man down the dirt lane.

* * *

Harry Potter was really liking Tom Riddle. Tom was smart and suave. He didn't have to dumb words down for him or watch what he said because Tom just understood him that way. Tom didn't know that Harry was famous in a sense, Tom didn't know that Harry was extremely wealthy, and Tom did not know about Harry's past. If anything, all of those facts were probably the most amazing things in his life at the moment.

Business was always booming. Harry was rich simply because of his inheritance from his deceased godfather. Then all of the problems in his history with death and murderers, Harry Potter was very familiar with how politics and celebrities worked. It was nice to speak with somebody that had not seen his face on the telly or who to read about him somewhere. Tom was speaking to him simply because Harry was new to the neighborhood that was it.

"Our Reverend is several years older than the town crier is and both are well into their eighties however. Under no circumstances do you argue with either of them, even if you do not agree with their teachings or the things they have to say. The Reverend will call your name out in the middle of a sermon and the crier, well, he will make all business regarding you known to the entire village."

"Gossip mongers always bothered me," Harry sneered.

"You have some experience with them?" Tom asked.

Harry snorted, "Don't I ever."

"I must admit that it was a shock when the village learned that a new family would be moving here soon. When the contractors came and began building your house on the opposite hill, people wondered if you came from money. From the look of your house I would say yes you do. It's nice to have another family in the village that is wealthy. Perhaps this will get the attention off of my family for a while."

"So do you live in a large house on the other Hill?" Harry asked.

" Yes. the Riddles are a very old family in Little Hangleton. We have been the highest in the nobility for the past century and a half. It is a small village so you must understand how highly the people seem to view my father and myself. But now that you are here, perhaps I can walk around the village without being stared at every minute of every day."

Harry was staring at the large manor house on the opposing Hill. It was four stories tall and was surrounded by a large garden, and a black, iron gate. Aside from Harry's house, it was the nicest building in the village. Everything else was one or two stories and mostly made of wood, though the nicer houses were made of brick and the ones of the wealthy had chimneys.

"My mother wanted to move suddenly. She wanted some peace and quiet away from city life, but unfortunately that leaves my step father and I with issues. I have businesses to run and my step father is a chemistry professor and making the commute to London will be an absolute pain. Severus doesn't really need to work at all seeing as our family is considerably well off, he just prefers not to be lazy. Severus isn't even 40 yet, and unlike my mother he cannot abide by sitting around and doing nothing but reading all day long. And while he does enjoy gardening, it was not something he could find himself doing all day everyday for the next however many years we're going to be here."

Tom looked interested. "You run businesses?" he asked.

"My god father left me a few things when he passed. I have a job to do and living all the way out here, is not making it any easier on me. I have had to delegate work to lesser members of my companies because I will not be able to travel out to London to see the work done myself. I have issues with trusting my work with people, because nobody can do my work better than me. Nobody will ever understand how I want something to be done because they do not share my exact vision."

"I can understand that."

Tom was leading Harry down the hill and toward the village. The village was nestled between two large hills. On one Hill, sat little Manor, where Tom Riddle lived with his father. On the other hand, now rested Harry's home, which had yet to be named. The village itself, was circular, the houses built to surround the church that sat at the very center. On the other side of the hill that Riddle Manor wrested at the top of, was Little Hangleton's own graveyard. There were more headstones in the graveyard then there were houses in the village.

"People just passed their houses on to family members?" Harry asked, feeling confused.

Tom nodded with a sigh. "A new house hasn't been built in Little Hangleton in years, so you are bound to get a lot of attention for not just moving here but having a house built. The fact that you can afford to have a house built will also be another point that they will bring to your attention, repeatedly might I add."

Harry gave a loud groan because wasn't it just his luck that his mother would move away from the prying eyes of the people only to move into a bloody village that was filled with people with prying eyes.

"Well, those questions will have to go to my mother and my step father. I only paid for my bedroom, they paid for the creation of the rest of the house."

Tom looking at him with interest, " _You_ paid for your bedroom?"

With a shrug Harry said, "I wanted my bedroom to be done a certain way. However, it would have cost a lot of money if they were to do everything that I had wanted. In order to save my mother and stepfather the financial pain of the bill, I took care of my bedroom myself."

"And what pray tell, is so special about your bedroom?" Tom teased.

Harry smiled flirtatiously and sent a wink Tom's away. "Behave and maybe I will show you."

Toms surprise pleased Harry. Also, the smirk crawling across his admittedly attractive lips, was just as flirtatious is Harry's wink.

"I look forward to it, Hadrian."

* * *

Harry really like Tom. Within the first week of their acquaintanceship, Harry had been invited over to Riddle Manor. He wasn't an idiot. Between Severus, Draco, Draco's father Lucius, and his mother Narcissa, Harry had been thankfully reared in the cunning ways. This was a ploy of Tom's.

It was Tom's way of ingratiating himself into Harry's everyday life. By doing things as half arsed pleasantries, Harry was left to do the only respectable thing which was to invite him over to his own house later on. It wasn't like Harry really minded it at all no, it wasn't like his bedroom with some fortress of solitude that just absolutely had to be a secret from everybody in truth, Harry could appreciate Tom's cunning.

So, about a week after Harry's impromptu visit to Riddle Manor, Harry invited Tom Marvolo Riddle into his house. Lily had been overjoyed and had made sure that there was a plethora of sweets available for the two of them during Tom's visit. Harry took the large tray up to his bedroom which was actually three and maybe half a room?

Harry's bedroom consisted of three rooms, four if you wanted to be precise. There was the drawing room, his personal study, his bedroom itself, and an adjoining bathroom. Harry's drawing room was basically one large bookshelf. Every wall was actually created in order to hold Harry's extremely large book collection. There was a window-seat facing the back of the house, there was a chaise lounge, two sofas, and an ottoman. The color scheme for the room was black bookshelves, a green shag rug on the floor, and all of the furniture was black as well.

Into Harry's bedroom was more black and green. Very fanciful with both both colors which were used consistently. His bed coverings were made of black silk, his walls were completely black, all of his furniture was silver, and his adjoining bathroom was done in the same coloring.

In all honesty, it was very much like Tom's own room. Well, at least half of Tom's room. Tom had confided in Harry that he had what was known as Dissociative Identity Disorder or Multiple Personality Disorder for those who didn't know the other name. Half of Tom's bedroom looked very similar to Harry's bedroom. But the other half was crazy, with multiple shades of red and a white shag rug that had been dotted with red ink to make it resemble blood. Tom had two beds in his bedroom. One was large and black with a green duvet. On the other side was a small, white bed and the duvet and wood were also decorated with red paint and red hand-prints that looked as if someone's bloody hand had slid along them.

Tom was a rather easy going person. It was his other self... that wasn't so easy going. Tom explained that this other person was named Voldemort. He had noticed the difference between himself and the other being when he was a child. They had different likes and different dislikes and it took a few years but Tom was able to find a name that perfectly suited this other being inside his head.

Tom wanted peace and quiet, he wanted to spend his days in relative solitude without annoying people around to bother him. Voldemort however, like to cause mayhem and destruction. Any vandalism that occurred in Little Hangleton was usually done by Voldemort's hand. Tom would never lower himself to do anything so plebeian as to vandalize somebody's property. Voldemort did not care what people thought of him when it came to pleasant thoughts.

While Tom valued solitude and intelligence, Voldemort valued pain, suffering, and most of all, chaos. It was as if Tom was 'sharing a body with a psychopath', at least those were Tom's words. Also, Tom was rather offended that his father wasn't the best when it came to raising a child, Voldemort felt that he didn't need anybody in order to make him feel alive. Both were complete opposites and yet they had similarities.

Tom had noted that both were extremely intelligent. Both did not like the people of Little Hangleton. Both held no interest in monetary gain or titles. But other than those three things, the two of them were is different as day and night.

Harry had yet to meet this Voldemort character, but he believed he would eventually and he wasn't worried. The reason being was because his brother in law - or was it step brother in law? - also suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder. Draco Malfoy was like two different people and Harry had experience with him and his other part.

Draco was the male personality and Vega was the female personality. Draco tended to have most control over their body. Yes, their body. Draco had explained that he had to come to grips with the fact that there were two people in his body and he decided that instead of trying to fight it, he would just embrace it. So he and Vega made a deal. They set up specific time periods for every day where Draco would be in charge of the body and then he would sleep in a sense and Vega would be in charge of the body. Both were lucky enough to get along really well.

According to Tom, he and Voldemort barely got on at all. It resulted in sleepless nights because unlike Draco, who slept while Vega was in charge these days, Tom was always awake and aware.

He was really looking forward to meeting Voldemort. Tom insisted that he shouldn't have to meet Voldemort at all because Voldemort was not saying very pleasant things about him. But the way he explained and it it was as if Voldemort was saying rude things and yet the blush on his face told of another kind of unpleasant.

If it just so happened that a psychopath who was sharing a body with a rather mellow and attractive young man found Harry appealing in any way, he really didn't mind. At least, he was sure he wouldn't mind. He have to meet Voldemort first in order to know.

* * *

 **A/N: Another is done!**

 **-Tom has DID, remember.**

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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Harry Potter.**

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* * *

Harry Potter promptly found himself being pinned one of the hedges on Tom's property. He and Tom had been walking through the Riddle gardens, when Tom's whole body went still as a board. Harry had seen similar reactions in Draco whenever Vega decided she wanted to take over. He was not worried too much about Tom in regards to the switch between personalities. He was however, a little bit worried for his own health, as Tom had told him that Voldemort seemed to really like him. On a creepy level.

It was all in the way Tom's body changed. While there were no outward changes such as physical size or coloring or anything, it was still rather obvious that it was _not_ Tom who was present at the moment.

Tom walked with a presence that _demanded_ respect. And also demanded that people notice him. He was always calm and collected and did not allow anything but minor humor, lust, and annoyance to bleed through.

Voldemort was not the same. He was a completely different person.

While in control of Tom's body, Voldemort allowed himself to sway minutely back and forth. He made Tom's fingers play with the edges of his clothing. The tips of his perfectly tailored shirt. Unbuttoning said shirt completely but still keeping it on. Pulling the shirt from where it had been tucked into his trousers.

While Tom liked everything neat and orderly, Voldemort loved chaos. His eyes were shining with terribly concealed glee. He looked only a little mad and reminded Harry a bit too much of Bellatrix Lestrange in that moment.

He did not like that look on Tom's face. Did not like the fact that it was not Tom who was wishing to devour him.

Harry swallowed his worry as Voldemort regarded him closely. He swayed into Harry's personal space, bringing Tom's head - which was several inches above Harry's own - very close. He could easily breathe in the perfume Tom had put on that morning after his shower.

"I've been waiting to meet you!" trilled Voldemort, Tom's voice going unnaturally high and airy like.

"And I've… been curious about you," Harry answered, slightly put off by the childishness of Voldemort. It just didn't seem right when connected to Tom's face.

Voldemort's grabbed Harry's hand roughly, shaking it twice before forcefully linking their fingers and dragging the young man further into the gardens.

"Come Harry, tell Lord Voldemort all your secrets!" said the other, sitting primly on a stone bench and forcefully pulling Harry into his lap. He wrapped strong arms around Harry, caging him in and looking at him expectantly, Tom's eyes beguiling.

Harry easily took note of the term 'lord'. Voldemort considered himself a lord? Weren't lords supposed to be fancy and mature? Voldemort didn't seem to be either. In fact, Tom fit the description more than Voldemort did.

There was an insistent tap on his nose and he looked up in confusion.

"Lord Voldemort is not a patient man, little Harry. He prefers an answer."

Gone was the childish voice, Tom's natural sound morphing into something much darker and more threatening. Eyes now hooded though no less crazed. He was also making good use of the third person.

"Well... it depends on what secret you want to know," said Harry carefully, trying to locate which one he'd no doubt have to tell Voldemort. Most of his life had been aired to the public of England, though Little Hangleton was out of the way and he was sure no one here knew him. That meant he was keeping his past from Tom in essence and therefore it was kind of like a secret.

"Your most fearful secret," whispered Voldemort, nuzzling into Harry's ruffled locks.

"I was kidnapped by a mass murderer several years ago, because she wanted to be my new mummy."

Voldemort's body froze in place. "And did she do anything to you while you were with her?"

Harry shook his head, gooseflesh roused due to the pure darkness he could hear in that tone. "I hid under the bed and she threw a right tantrum."

"Hmm."

Voldemort rubbed his hands over Harry's shoulders, back, and stomach. He was clingy compared to Tom, which was odd since Tom was the one who preferred company.

"Want to know one of my secrets?" asked the man, because there was a great difference between he and Tom and Harry could seen the teen wasn't liked this person before him.

"I like blood," whispered Voldemort. "Love it. It's so appealing and it tastes… divine." Tom's tongue was trailing over Harry's right shoulder as deft fingers pulled his collar aside to expose more flesh.

He shivered because the thought that Voldemort used Tom's mouth to do… whatever he did with blood, was terrifying and to a low key… arousing.

"TOM!"

Their moment was completely ruined by the yelling of Tom Riddle Sr. The man rarely came around or bothered them whenever they were spending time together, so it was a shock. Enough to get Voldemort to release Harry from his tight grip and stand, though he looked unhappy.

Together, the two walked back to the manor, Harry eyeing the predatory grace in Tom's gait. Voldemort easily put on the act as if he was Tom, but Harry wasn't fooled because he'd just been licked by the man and knew the difference intimately now.

"Yes, father?" Voldemort simpered once he and Harry reached the building.

Tom Sr. was looking worried, eyes shifting nervously to his left and then his right ae he said, "Morfin Gaunt is out of prison and he's back."

Harry didn't know what was wrong with that but Voldemort's entire frame went rigid and Tom's eyes were narrowing dangerously.

"Oh, is he?" asked the man, affecting a stiff but disinterested persona.

"Yes. Do not approach him at all and if he so much as looks at you, walk the other way."

Voldemort nodded once.

* * *

Voldemort and Tom were arguing mentally over the new information as Tom took over his body and led Harry up to his room.

 **I say we go in the night and slit his throat,** Voldemort demanded.

Tom disagreed, _We should ignore him. He has experience in killing people._

 **So do I.**

 _You **maim** , your actions hold no sort of grace or skill, _sneered the teen.

 **Shall I show my skills by using your precious Harry as an example?**

 _You wouldn't hurt him because he fascinates you,_ argued Tom.

Voldemort gave a throaty scoff. **Oh, I'd hurt him. I'd enjoy seeing him scream and beg. His pain would be so beautiful. But it would only be beautiful if I were the one to inflict it.**

 _You're mad!_

 **Yes, but as this is your body and we are one in the same though two on the whole, wouldn't that make you mad as well?** taunted Voldemort.

Tom decided to ignore him now, coming back to himself to find Harry and he sitting on his bed. Harry was calmly stroking the back of his left hand as he patiently waited for Tom to come to himself.

"I apologize," said the older youth.

Harry smiled, "I've dealt with Draco and Vega before. I know when to wait.

 _See how amazing he is? Why would you want to harm him?_

 **Not everlasting harm,** sighed Voldemort. **A broken toy is of no use after all. Simply lingering pain, not too brutal.**

 _You're sick!_

 **Yes. We are.**

"Why are you so worried about this Morfin Gaunt character?" Harry asked, drawing both of their attentions.

With a sigh, Tom stood and pulled Harry with him. "We'll see my personal library. It has the family history and this will take some time."

Tom rifled through his collection of papers and books he'd retrieved from the Gaunt Shack.

"My mother was Marvolo Gaunt's daughter. It is believed that the Gaunts practiced witchcraft and incest and as I was the only relation not in prison or dead, I had the right to the shack they lived in. I found ouija boards, salt, candles, various cauldrons. It was a little over the top.

Marvolo's other child Morfin, murdered our caretaker after Marvolo murdered my grandparents and injured my father. Marvolo died in prison, but Morfin wasn't given much time as he pled insanity.

If he's back, then Little Hangleton will need to be wary."

"Why would he try to kill your family if your father married your mother?"

Tom winced, "That's where the witchcraft comes in. Father does not remember marrying her, nor the months after. He awoke one day and demanded a divorce because he didn't know who she was or why he even married her in the first place. She tried to claim love but he said he didn't love or know her. He found bottles and vials of liquid that she claimed to have been giving him and he fled to the village, screaming that she had bewitched him. She was run off with threats of violence should she stay.

I was born in a London orphanage and lived there for six years until Tom found me by luck and took me back to his home. And here I am."

Tom gave a wry smile. "Marvolo hated my father for what he'd supposed done to his little girl and vowed revenge. Morfin is simply a follower who wants to honor his father's memory."

Tom unfolded the large scroll documenting of the Gaunt family, where it went up and up and up, marking where the name Gaunt came from at the top with Cadmus Peverell and the small, but detailed account of why the name was changed.

Harry goggled at the large parchment. "Peverell?" he murmured, sounding awed. "Cadmus Gaunt… formerly Peverell. Brother of Ignotus Peverell perhaps?

Tom blinked in surprise, "Yes. How did you-"

"Ignotus Peverell is the direct ancestor of the Potter family," said Harry.

"So then… we're cousins."

"Very distantly," Harry grinned. "That's awesome. My ancestor was said to have been good at slight of hand but denied claim of sorcery or connection with his eldest brother and moved his life and family and changed his name to better suit his purposes."

"That's what Cadmus did," Tom mumbled, reeling over the fact that he and Harry were technically related.

What were the chances?

How much more alike could they get?

 **That depends,** purred Voldemort. **Does he like men or women?**

 _Who knows?_

 **Find out, then.**

"I don't think Voldemort enjoys the idea of being related to you," Tom said, decided to use Voldemort as an excuse and ignoring the other's cursing.

"What? Why?" asked Harry looking offended, green eyes bright with sadness.

"Because then we couldn't do this," Tom whispered, lightly placing his lips on Harry's own, soft ones.

Once he pulled back, he got to see the flush working its way up Harry's face.

"Well you know… this kind of thing is only bad if we're closer than second cousins," said the smaller teen, looking downright mischievous.

 **What a naughty little thing,** Voldemort growled.

 _Shush, I'm enjoying this._

 **Hmph.**

Tom smirked, pulling little, willing Harry in for another kiss, intent on educating him on the fine art of kissing.

* * *

"Oh Spirits, allow me to get revenge for my father. Give me the power to kill the Riddles."

Lightning cracked through the air in response and a deep cackle sounded.

* * *

 **A/N: Another is done.**

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